


Sharing Love Is Sharing Wealth

by mysticanni



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Avoiding talking about feelings, Blood, Eyelashes, Happy Ending, Head Injury, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Insecurity, Minor Violence, Multi, Non-Consensual Groping, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 23:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29865759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticanni/pseuds/mysticanni
Summary: Miami punches a journalist.Roger hits his head.Crystal unexpectedly finds himself in love with both of them.
Relationships: Chris "Crystal" Taylor/Jim Beach/Roger Taylor, Chris "Crystal" Taylor/Roger Taylor, Jim Beach/Roger Taylor
Comments: 8
Kudos: 18





	Sharing Love Is Sharing Wealth

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Bathsheba Smiles" by Richard Thompson

He will laugh about this at a later date. Possibly a much later date, in the afterlife, perhaps, if there is an afterlife.

The worst thing is the realisation that if he had simply waited then the vile cowardly snivelling creep of a journalist would have dropped the charges and he would have been able to walk out of the police station with no one being any the wiser about his arrest. But even as that blissful thought crosses his mind he knows he could not have done that. It would have been one thing him staying in a police cell for a while as the bastard journalist cooled off but quite another to leave Roger on his own at the hospital. 

Still, he is slightly dismayed to find them all there to collect him. He had expected Freddie to go to Roger. He had thought Brian would relish the chance to lecture Roger while he was a captive audience in a hospital bed. That outcome would have left John to collect him and he thought that would have been okay. John would not lecture him. He might have been amused and probably curious but not disapproving. Even if John had accompanied Freddie to pick up Roger – the responsible adult – and Brian had come to collect him he thought Brian would have been quick to blame Roger. Would he have allowed Brian to blame Roger? Shamefully, he thought he might have.

But here they all are. He suspects they are the most glamorous reception committee the police station has ever seen. Freddie looks very amused. “Miami, darling, you’re supposed to be the responsible one.”

“Who’s gone to be with Roger?” Miami demands with a frown. If they have all come to rescue him – to satisfy their curiosity – perhaps to be amused at his expense – then who is with Roger – the injured innocent bystander? 

“Crystal,” they tell him in unison.

Of course, he should have realised it would be Crystal. It hurts so much to think about their relationship that he tends to blot it out. It occurs to him that Crystal will almost certainly be furious with him. Miami was given Roger to take care of and Roger has ended up in hospital. Miami isn’t very impressed with himself either. 

“The journalist dropped the charges,” John tells him softly. He looks sympathetic. 

“I expect he’ll exact his revenge in print,” Brian sighs. He takes a deep breath and Miami braces himself for a lecture. They begin to move, walking through the corridors of the police station back towards the entrance. Miami finds he can tune Brian out, catching only the occasional word. “...Disappointing...Irresponsible...Disrepute...”

He deserves the lecture, he knows. He is not sorry, however. He would punch the journalist again in a heartbeat. In fact, part of him wishes he had hit him harder. He would have liked to inflict more damage on the whining little shit. “How is Roger?” he asks abruptly. Brian frowns – cut off in mid flow. 

*

He might be a little bit woozy,” the nurse explains as Crystal follows her down the corridors of the hospital. “We gave him quite strong painkillers.”

Roger looks out of place in the clinical cubicle they have deposited him in. It is like seeing a parrot in a public lavatory. Roger looks too vibrant and gaudy for his drab surroundings. He is covered in blood. Crystal cannot help gasping. “Head wounds tend to bleed a lot,” the nurse informs him crisply.

Roger is perching on the edge of the bed. He slides off and totters over to Crystal, flinging his arms around him. “Crysty!” he beams.

“Don’t call me that,” Crystal commands him automatically. “What’ve you done to yourself this time?” he sighs.

“This wasn’t my fault,” Roger protests. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s never your fault,” Crystal snorts. Roger gives him a look he can only describe as piteous.

The nurse launches into a long list of instructions regarding caring for someone with a head injury.

*

The journalist is making his exit from the police station at the same time as them. The sight of his bloody nose gives Miami some satisfaction. He feels his hands ball into fists. “You broke my nose,” the journalist whines. 

“Get out of my sight before I break your bloody neck,” Miami snaps and is pleased to see the man look startled before he turns and scuttles out of the station. 

“Very masterful, darling,” Freddie drawls. “I can’t wait to hear what happened.”

Miami follows the others to John’s car and sits in the back seat next to Brian, who looks uncomfortable with his long legs folded into the small space. Freddie twists around in the front passenger seat and examines him. “Okay, dear, let’s hear it.”

*

Crystal keeps a firm hold on Roger as they navigate the corridors that will (hopefully) lead to an exit. Roger squirms and Crystal eyes him suspiciously. “I need to pee,” Roger confides in a low voice. He looks at Crystal with a touchingly trusting expression on his pale face.

“This was my day off,” Crystal grumbles, “Only you could get injured at a magazine interview.”

“It really wasn’t my fault,” Roger moans. He wriggles again, “Crys, I’m bursting...”

Roger looks anxious. Crystal sighs. “I’m not going to let you disgrace yourself,” he assures Roger gruffly. He starts scanning the corridor for signs for toilets. 

*

Miami looks at his hands resting on his thighs as he tells his story. His hands look alien as if they belong to someone else. He flexes the fingers of his right hand wincing slightly as his split knuckles begin to bleed again. 

Miami begins his tale by letting them know that the interviewer – the so-called journalist – was hostile from the start. He had expressed disappointment that Freddie was not there. He had mentioned something about being fobbed off with the drummer. 

Roger had been polite and had answered his questions carefully. Miami wants them to understand that Roger didn’t do anything wrong. “I was proud of him,” he tells them. 

The interviewer had sneered at their music and had suggested their latest album was not selling well. Roger had agreed that it had got off to a slow start in some places but listed the sky-high sales figures from South America. The interviewer had implied that Roger was making the figures up. 

Freddie gives an indignant gasp, “The bastard! I’m glad you hit him,” he exclaims.

“It gets worse,” Miami informs him grimly. The interviewer had mocked Roger’s appearance next. He said he had heard Roger was frequently mistaken for a girl and that he could understand how that happened. He said surely Roger was too fragile to drum. 

Rain has started to fall from the steely grey sky. After Miami has stopped speaking the only sounds are the car engine, the hiss of the tyres on the wet road and the rhythmical swish of the windscreen wipers. 

*

Roger gives a little gasp of relief as he empties his bladder. He had been frightened that he might pee in his pants – that would have been the perfect finishing touch to the humiliations of the day. 

Once he has washed his hands he looks around for something to dry them on. The paper towel dispenser is empty. The loo roll holder boasts only a bare cardboard tube. So Roger wipes his hands on his jeans. As he looks down at his thighs he notices blood spatters on his jeans and he wonders if the blood will wash out. He likes these jeans.

He suspects his blood soaked top might be a right-off. Taking a deep breath he emerges from the loo and Crystal immediately wraps his arm around him again. “Better?” Crystal asks.

Crystal being there makes it better. Crystal’s arm circling him protectively makes it better. “Yeah,” Roger says, “Much better. I thought I might wet me knickers for a minute there.” He takes a deep shuddery breath. “I’m sorry, Crys. I’m sorry I’ve ruined your day off.”

“I’m used to it,” Crystal sniffs. “Come on, let’s get out of here. You’ve got a band meeting to attend.”

Roger looks down at his stained sticky clothing and then looks at Crystal in horror. “A band meeting?” he echoes.

“Crisis meeting,” Crystal shrugs, “To discuss Miami’s arrest, I suppose.”

“Arrest?” Roger repeats, feeling stupid. 

*

“So that’s when you punched him, is it?” Brian breaks the silence.

Miami shakes his head. “No. It was when Roger was leaving...The bastard squeezed his bum. He’d been vile to him throughout the interview but then he...touched him...I just saw red.”

There is another brief silence which John breaks this time with a crisp, “Well, I don’t think any of us blame you for that.”

“What I don’t understand,” Brian says slowly, “Is what happened to Roger?”

*

It was pouring with rain. Crystal sighed. “I’ve left the umbrella in the car,” he said crossly. 

Roger bit back the urge to apologise. It was not, after all, his fault. “It might wash off some of the blood,” he ventured. He felt his attempt at humour had fallen a little flat. Crystal gave him a strange look.

“I was worried sick,” Crystal began slowly, “When Brian called and said you were in hospital I was worried sick.”

“Brian,” Roger repeated. He was starting to sound like an echo. “Why did Brian call? What happened to Miami?”

“I thought you might be...” Crystal gulps.

Roger felt alarmed. Crystal usually made him work hard for any display of affection. And then it was little affectionate touches – a quick hug – a kiss on the cheek – ruffling Roger’s hair. 

Crystal did not display actual feelings. Roger was not sure what to do with this wholly unwanted gift of choked emotion. 

“Sorry,” he offered again. “Crys, I’m sorry. But I don’t know what happened and I can’t fix the weather and...” He made a muffled noise of surprise as Crystal kissed him. It was a forceful kiss. Roger staggered a little as he was released.

A distant part of Roger’s mind registered that Crystal had just risked kissing him in a public place. There was no one about but even so – it was unprecedented. 

Crystal flung his arm around Roger’s waist again to steady him. “Car’s this way, Nymph,” he said, only a slight hoarseness to his voice hinting that anything unusual was happening. 

*

“I punched the journalist,” Miami recounted. The journalist had fallen backwards on to his arse. He had stared in shock at Miami, his fingers straying towards his bleeding nose. Roger had turned to look at Miami in astonishment and had then reached out towards the journalist to help him to his feet.

“Roggie’s a very kind person,” Freddie had murmured. 

The journalist had taken a wild swing at Miami. It was never going to connect but Roger had tried to insert himself between Miami and the seething journalist nevertheless.

The journalist’s flailing fist had cracked into Roger’s cheek and knocked him off balance. Roger had stumbled, falling forwards and hitting his head on the sharp corner of a coffee table. “He was out cold,” Miami concluded, “Blood everywhere. The magazine photographer went to get help. We were in a hotel conference room so reception called an ambulance and the police.”

*

“What do you mean you don’t know what happened?” Crystal asks as he settles Roger into the passenger seat of the car, ignoring the rain battering onto his back and shoulders.

“I remember the interview,” Roger tells him, with a little shudder, “And then I got up to leave and next thing I knew was when I woke up in the back of the ambulance.” 

Crystal frowned. “Well, Miami apparently got arrested for hitting the journalist,” he enlightened Roger, “But I don’t know what happened to you.” He climbed into the driving seat. “I was hoping you could tell me,” he muttered.

*

The band explained that they had asked Crystal to bring Roger to Miami’s office for a band meeting. They waited in silence with teas and coffees. 

The office door was ajar. Crystal leaned over and rapped his knuckles against it but did not wait for a reply before gently propelling Roger into the room. 

They all looked at Roger’s blood coated clothing and gasped. “We would have waited while you got changed, dear,” Freddie told Roger, aiming a reproachful look at Crystal. 

Crystal scowled. “How the fuck was I meant to know that?” he demanded. “You insisted on me bringing the man with the serious head injury to your emergency bloody meeting. How was I supposed to know you wanted him scrubbed and polished first?”

“Common sense?” John suggested acerbically. 

“Serious injury?” Brian queried. 

“I’m fine,” Roger assured everyone. He flopped into a chair and glanced at Miami. “They managed to break you out of jail, then?”

Miami flushed. He explained that the journalist had dropped the charges. Crystal had closed the door and was standing with his back to it, glowering. “Roger can’t remember what happened,” he stated flatly once Miami had finished his story, “And I want to know.” He sounded menacing.

Brian started to ask how much Roger could remember but Crystal interrupted. “I want to hear every detail from Miami,” he commanded. 

Miami repeated what he had told the others in the car. He saw Crystal’s hands bunch into fists. He glanced at Roger who appeared to be listening intently. Once Miami had finished his tale he said, “What did they say about your memory loss at the hospital?”

Roger was about to reply when Crystal interrupted again asking, “What’s his name?” His voice was low and calm. It made Miami’s blood run cold. 

“Whose name dear?” Freddie asked. 

“It doesn’t matter, Crys,” Roger said. “He was just some hack.”

“I am going to kill him,” Crystal stated, in that same chilling voice. “I will not have you violated like that.”

“Crys, men grab my arse every time I’m in a pub,” Roger pointed out, “You can’t kill all of them, although it’s very sweet of you to offer.”

“Miami’s already broken his nose,” John reminded Crystal. 

“A good start,” Crystal nodded. “I don’t want men to think they can treat you like an object,” he sighed, “I don’t like this...disrespect.”

“You literally call him Nymph,” Brian noted, “That’s not the most respectful nickname I’ve ever heard.” 

Crystal frowned at Brian. “Nicknames are different,” he muttered, “And I’m allowed,” he added haughtily. 

Roger frowned looking slightly confused. “You’re allowed to grab my arse,” he confirmed, “And call me Nymph. The magazine bloke is literally not worth it, Crys,” Roger said. “Please don’t,” he added softly, “Who would look out for me if you were in prison?”

“You were perfectly well looked after before Crystal came along,” Brian huffed. “What did they say about your memory loss at the hospital?” he added.

“They said it was perfectly normal to not recall the event that landed you in hospital,” Roger assured them.

“Sign of concussion,” Crystal added crisply. He moved away from the door and towards Roger. “Well, if I’m not allowed to kill the bastard and Miami’s a free man then I suppose I better get you home, Roggie.”

“Where Crystal can grab your arse to his heart’s content,” Freddie remarked, making Roger giggle and Crystal glare at them both. 

*

Roger had not thought about going home to get changed either. He realised that he must subconsciously allow the demands of the band to take precedence over his own needs. It was an alarming thought and Roger filed it away to be examined later. To be examined much later, or perhaps never.

Roger was quietly fretting about how emotional Crystal was during the meeting. He was frightened that he might have broken Crystal. Crystal had been broken and was now leaking emotion everywhere.

“Miami’s in love with you,” Crystal informed him abruptly as they reached the car. He added, “I’m sorry I didn’t take you home to get cleaned up first.”

Roger considered these statements. He wasn’t very sure what to say and eventually settled on, “I know,” and “It’s okay.”

Crystal shook his head, stabbing the key into the ignition as if he was killing an enemy. “It’s not okay. John was right – common sense. You deserve better.”

Roger was alarmed. “Crystal...” Roger shrugged. “If we’re doing emotions now then...You do know I love you?”

Crystal turned the key in the ignition. The engine spluttered to life. Crystal turned on the windscreen wipers which whisked briskly across the glass. “I want two days off in lieu of this wasted one,” Crystal told him eventually. 

Roger felt relieved. “I don’t know about that,” he shook his head, “What if I need your services?”

“You always need my services,” Crystal snorted.

“No one is indispensible, you know,” Roger informed him airily. 

“Good luck finding someone else who’ll put up with you,” Crystal grunted.

*

The magazine article appeared shortly before they were due to leave on a tour of America. It made no mention of what Freddie delighted in calling ‘the fracas’. The article was not very complimentary towards the band but Miami supposed it was never going to be even before he punched the interviewer.

Roger was described as ‘delicate’ and as having ‘something of the Fae about him’. “Nymph,” Crystal agreed nuzzling his neck.

“Whose side are you on?” Roger huffed.

“My own,” Crystal retorted. He plucked the magazine out of Roger’s hand and read the name of the interviewer out loud.

Roger gave him a sharp look. “He’s not worth it,” he reminded Crystal. Crystal made a non-committal noise.

“He obviously didn’t want to admit that he’d been knocked on his scrawny backside by Miami,” Freddie noted gleefully. “I think having a Fae drummer is very positive, dear.”

“He describes you as diminutive,” Roger smirked, sweetening this blow by adding, “I think he was cross because he couldn’t interview you.”

“The cheeky bastard!” Freddie huffed, “If I’d punched him I’d have broken his jaw,” he added airily. 

“Sure you would,” Roger nodded, “And Crystal would pull off the perfect murder.” 

“I’d be a very good murderer,” Crystal told him. 

“I could see you as a hit-man,” John said, “Clinical execution.”

“Just what everyone wants to hear about their lover,” Roger sighed. “Good killer. Nice method of execution.” He fluttered his eyelashes at Crystal. “It’s so romantic.”

“I think the ultimate expression of love is that you’d lay down your own life for your beloved,” Miami suggested, “Not take someone else’s life.”

Crystal shrugged, “Why not both,” he said lightly. He handed the magazine back to Roger. “At least the photographer was kind to you,” he noted.

*

Sometimes Miami thought it might have been preferable to go to jail so that he didn’t have to witness Roger and Crystal’s more lovey-dovey moments. Not that they rammed their relationship down people’s throats, in fairness, but he saw more affectionate touches than he was entirely comfortable with. 

Crystal made Roger work for affection, Miami thought. He suspected Roger had to work particularly hard to receive affection in front of the others. The band and the road crew all knew about and accepted the relationship but any outward indications of Roger and Crystal being a couple were rare. Society would not have accepted them as a couple, of course.

Miami was finding the tour difficult. Everyone was forced together too much and he had just walked into the dressing room, thinking the band had all left, to find Roger and Crystal kissing.

He stood alone in the wings watching as the show started. He had thought Roger was going to say something to him just before he went on stage but John had said something that claimed Roger’s attention and the moment was lost. 

The show started with a bang as always – a spectacular pyrotechnic display that seemed louder than usual causing Miami to raise his hands to his ears. Not for the first time, Miami thought this probably wasn’t great for his hearing.

As the smoke cleared it became clear that something was wrong. One of the explosions seemed to have blown Roger off his perch behind the drum kit.

A couple of the roadies were pulling screens into place to hide the stage from the audience. Miami hurried on to the stage picking his way through a tangle of wires towards the little group of people gathered at the back of the stage behind the drum riser.

*

Crystal was pacing up and down the little waiting room. Miami wished he would sit down but he also knew why he couldn’t. There was a tattered poster depicting a pastel coloured landscape on the wall opposite Miami’s seat. He wished he could walk into it and lie down in the pretty green field.

Crystal halted abruptly as the door to the waiting room opened and a doctor entered. Miami stood up and moved closer to Crystal. 

“Mr Taylor?” the doctor asked, “Mr Beach?” They both nodded. “Roger has recovered consciousness. We’ve patched up his injuries. You may see him now.”

*

Roger was wearing a hospital gown and lying on a bed in a curtained cubicle. He gave them a weak smile as they entered. Miami suddenly realised he was surplus to requirements and gestured vaguely towards the corridor. “I’ll just...Er...”

“Stay,” Roger croaked. 

Miami glanced at Crystal who gave a brief nod. Miami hovered near the foot of the bed while Crystal moved closer and carefully gathered Roger into his arms. “You have to stop getting yourself hospitalised,” Crystal mumbled. 

“This wasn’t my fault either,” Roger noted. 

“No,” Crystal’s voice cracked, “It was my fault. I should have checked...”

“That’s not your job,” Miami reminded him. He was surprised by how calm he sounded. 

“Miami’s right,” Roger agreed, “The explosions aren’t your responsibility. And even if they were, accidents happen. And I’m fine. That’s the main thing.”

“You hurt your head again,” Crystal muttered. 

“Yeah,” Roger nodded, “but it seems to be hard as rock so no real damage done.”

Crystal sniffed. “At least they’ve cleaned you up this time,” he noted.

“Do you know where my clothes are?” Roger asked. 

*

Roger’s clothes had been cut off him while he was unconscious. “Oh,” Roger had said in a small voice, “I liked that outfit.” Miami went to retrieve something for him to wear back to the hotel leaving him with Crystal.

Crystal’s arm felt strong and reassuring round his back. Roger nestled against him. His head ached a lot more this time. Everything ached. He couldn’t remember the accident (again) but he had been told that he had effectively been blown not only off the drum riser but also off the back of the stage, crashing onto the ground. “You’re lucky you didn’t break any bones,” the doctor had said. 

He may not have broken anything but Roger thought he was going to have some very impressive bruises. “Did we have to cancel the show?” he wondered. 

“Well, yeah, Nymph,” Crystal pressed his lips to the undamaged side of Roger’s head. “Turns out the band are quite reliant on you waggling a tambourine about and such like, who knew.”

*

Miami had organised a car to take them back to the hotel. Roger sat quietly between Miami and Crystal. “Thank you,” he said suddenly, “Both of you. I’m sorry for being such a nuisance.”

“You’re not a nuisance,” Miami assured him softly, “It was an accident. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes, but...You both came to hang about at the hospital waiting for me,” Roger pointed out. 

“Yeah, because we could have been out partying while you were unconscious,” Crystal snorted, “Don’t be daft, Roggie.”

“The others would have been at the hospital too,” Miami told him, “But apparently the hospital isn’t keen on having that many people cluttering up the place.”

*

They were waiting like brightly coloured vultures in the lobby of the hotel. Freddie swooped first. “Roggie! Darling!”

The tour manager, Gerry, materialised at Miami’s elbow. His gaze swept over Roger up and down, assessing him. “How many nights do we need to cancel?”

“I would say at least a week,” Miami responded briskly. “Can we re-arrange them? Change the dates, perhaps?”

They agreed to meet for breakfast to discuss this. Gerry departed and Miami edged closer to the little group surrounding Roger and Crystal. Miami cleared his throat and was gratified to find that they all stopped babbling and looked at him. He explained that the current plan was to cancel at least a week of shows.

Roger looked troubled. “I’m sure there’s no need,” he said, “I expect I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“A week might not be long enough,” Crystal said curtly, also aiming an assessing look at Roger.

“What did the doctor say?” Brian wondered. 

*

It had not occurred to Crystal to ask what the doctor thought about when Roger would be fit for work and he cursed himself for that oversight now. It was going to be embarrassing to admit to Brian that they didn’t know.

“The doctor thought he should be able to drum again in around a week,” Miami stated, “Although he did note that Roger is likely to be in considerable pain from his extensive bruising so it might depend on that.”

So it had occurred to Miami to ask the doctor about work. That was part of Miami’s job, of course. But it was part of Crystal’s job too. His love for Roger had got in the way of asking pertinent questions. But Miami loved Roger too, of course and he had kept his wits about him. Crystal held Roger a little tighter and Roger made a little sound of surprise. Surprise or maybe... “Sorry, Nymph, did that hurt?”

*

Roger looked up at Crystal, meeting his eyes. “Bed?” he mouthed. Normally that promised more fun than he could muster this evening. He felt as if he might melt into a little puddle of exhaustion on the floor.

Crystal grinned at him. “Okay, everyone, Rog needs to lie down. I suggest we continue this discussion in the morning.”

“So authoritative,” Roger murmured appreciatively. He allowed everyone to gently kiss his cheek or squeeze his shoulder or ruffle his hair – although his whole scalp felt tender. He should probably mention that but it seemed like too much effort. 

Miami gently patted his back. “Do you have painkillers? Do you need anything?”

“Practical,” Roger murmured, also appreciatively.

“Yeah,” Crystal was saying. He seemed like he was speaking from a considerable distance away.

*

“Roggie?” Crystal clasps Roger against him as he sags alarmingly. “Shit,” he mutters, “He’s fainted, I think.”

He feels helpless. Miami is suddenly by his side. “Let’s get him to your room,” he suggests, “Can you lift him?”

Roger stirs as Crystal awkwardly lifts him like a bridegroom carrying his bride across the threshold of their home. “All right, Nymph,” he murmurs, “Just going to get you comfy. Just hang on for me.”

Miami accompanies them to their room, unlocking the door and holding it open so Crystal can manoeuvre Roger through it and deposit him very carefully on the bed. “Will you stay?” Crystal asks. “I need to keep waking him up...Making sure I can...” Crystal gulps. “And I’m scared I might fall asleep myself.”

“Yes, of course I’ll stay,” Miami agrees. 

*

“Just wanna sleep,” Roger grumbles as Miami gently shakes him awake. 

“I know,” Miami tells him softly. 

Roger gives a little huff and snuggles under the covers again. Miami tucks them in around him.

Crystal has dozed off in the uncomfortable looking armchair in the corner. Miami tucks a blanket around him too.

*

Crystal awakens. Miami looks apologetic. “I have to go and meet Gerry,” he tells Crystal. “I’ve just checked on Roger.”

Crystal nods groggily. He suspects Miami has allowed him to sleep and is touched by his kindness. “Thank you,” he croaks.

“I’ll have some breakfast sent up to you,” Miami offers. 

Crystal showers and then sits on the bed watching Roger sleeping. He gently shakes Roger awake when room service arrive with their breakfast. 

“G’ way,” Roger mumbles. 

“Charming,” Crystal laughs, “Good morning to you too, Nymph. Breakfast is served.”

Roger looks fragile propped up on massive snow white pillows. The bruises on the side of his face stand out in stark contrast to the paleness of his skin and the whiteness of the pillows. The dressing over the cut on his head is spotted with blood too. He looks groggy. “Sleep,” he says sulkily.

“Eat,” Crystal demands, “Scrambled eggs should slip down okay.”

Roger manages a small portion of scrambled eggs and obediently swallows some painkillers with a glass of water. Crystal rewards him with a kiss. “Mi was here?” Roger asks uncertainly. 

“Yeah,” Crystal confirms, “He was helping me watch over you.” He does not want to think about his pathetic need for company – for a friend – the previous night so he bats the thought away.

*

The tour has been extended so they can return to perform the shows they had to cancel following Roger’s accident. They all want to go home. Tempers are frayed.

The first of the re-scheduled shows is on the same stage Roger fell from and he feels an unexpected and very unwelcome lurch of fear as he stands in the wings. He tells himself not to be so silly – he has played many shows since then and nothing bad has happened. It doesn’t help.

“Are you okay?” a soft voice asks and he turns and finds Miami at his side.

Roger shakes his head. “Just...Didn’t expect to feel so nervous,” he mumbles, feeling his cheeks heat up.

Freddie overhears, “Oh, darling, don’t worry. Lightning doesn’t strike in the same place twice.”

That doesn’t help either. John pulls him into a quick hug which Roger thinks is at least a nice note to end on if this show kills him. Then he tells himself not to be so melodramatic. Brian ruffles his hair. “Chin up,” he urges Roger.

Miami squeezes Roger’s shoulder. “There aren’t going to be any pyrotechnics here,” he tells Roger, “Just some dry ice.”

That does help. Roger takes a deep breath and bounds out onto the stage.

*

“You okay, Nymph?” Crystal asks as he lights a cigarette. They are shivering outside the venue waiting for a car to arrive to whisk them off to the hotel.

The others have just piled into a car which is taking them to a club. Roger thinks his injuries have made him middle-aged. He is longing for bed. He is longing for bed and sleep and gloomily thinks this might be his life now. “I’m getting old,” he thinks out loud, “Craving an early night. I’ll have a pipe and slippers before I know where I am.”

Crystal grins and offers him the cigarette which Roger sucks on gratefully. “Nice to know you’ll still be melodramatic when you’re eighty. Are you okay?” Crystal repeats. He heard the others teasing Roger after the show but he couldn’t quite make out what they were referring to. Something had evidently happened while he was working. 

“I was a bit...I didn’t expect to be so nervous about...” Roger shrugs. “Anyway, I managed not to get blown up this time!”

Crystal realises that he should have told Roger there would be no explosions tonight. “The guys are thinking of other ways to kill you,” he jokes, “Since blowing you up doesn’t seem to work.”

Roger laughs, “I’ll have to get you to taste all my food in case they try to poison me, then.”

Crystal snorts. He is about to say he is not willing to die for Roger when he stops himself - because he is willing to die for Roger. And he doesn’t want to give Roger the wrong impression about that even in jest. To his relief the car arrives and he is saved from having to make a reply. He thinks Roger is looking strangely at him though.

*

An argument is raging somewhere above Crystal’s head. He hears an authoritative voice asking what is going on with mixed relief and trepidation.

The cell is cold and Crystal wraps his arms around himself. A doctor has patched up his cuts but his pride is wounded beyond repair. 

Only a bloody idiot would have ended up in this situation. His insides shrivel at the thought of Roger hearing about this. He will never live it down. 

He starts as the door is unlocked. A policeman beckons to him, waving him impatiently out of the cell and escorts him back to the front desk in silence. Miami is waiting by the front desk. Miami looks immaculate in a neat suit and Crystal is very aware of his own unwashed, unshaven crumpled appearance.

He is free to go, apparently and follows Miami outside into cold sunshine. He blinks and fumbles sunglasses onto his face. Miami has a car waiting and Crystal slides onto the back seat next to him.

“I’ve taken the liberty of booking us into a hotel room for tonight,” Miami tells him. “I wasn’t sure how long it would take for you to be released and the van won’t be ready until tomorrow.”

Crystal runs his fingers through his greasy hair. “Thanks,” he mutters. “Um...What exactly is happening?”

Miami looks amused. “I was rather hoping you could tell me.”

*

Miami has booked them into a very luxurious hotel. Crystal has a long hot shower in the nice bathroom and then flops onto one of the twin beds wrapped in the fluffy white towelling robe the hotel have supplied.

He had been driving a van on his own taking some equipment back from the show they had just played in Spain. The band had flown back to London and most of the equipment had been packed into huge trucks and had trundled off to a storage facility where it would be held until they toured again.

Crystal had been driving a van containing items that were not going into storage. Only it had broken down on the outskirts of Bilbao. When a car had stopped Crystal had thought they wanted to help. “I’m an idiot,” he groans to Miami now, “Of course they wanted to rob the van.”

“I’m not sure that trusting in the innate goodness of people makes you an idiot,” Miami remarks mildly, “Possibly slightly naive but not an idiot.”

Crystal isn’t sure which is worse – naive or idiot. He hears the clinking of glasses and props himself up on one elbow. Miami is rootling about in the mini-bar and cheerfully offers him a drink. “Yeah, thanks.”

“I understand there were three of them and you fought them off bravely,” Miami says as he hands Crystal a very strong vodka and tonic.

Crystal eyes him suspiciously wondering if Miami is making fun of him. It can be hard to tell. “I realised pretty quickly they weren’t there to tow me to the nearest garage,” he says slightly frostily, taking a gulp of his drink. “Luckily, I had a massive torch with me to illuminate my clueless peering at the engine and I managed to do a bit of damage with that.”

Miami is studying him. Crystal can’t tell what he is thinking and squirms under his steady gaze. “I was perfectly sincere,” Miami assures him, “I think it was very brave of you to fight them.”

So Miami can apparently tell what Crystal is thinking. Crystal blushes and files that information away.

“Apparently the three men vanished before their wounds could be attended to at the hospital,” Miami informs him, “So the police have concluded they are not interested in pressing charges.”

Crystal snorts. “Did they get anything from the van?” he wonders. “They did eventually overpower me,” he reluctantly admits. 

“The police arrived before they got the chance,” Miami explains. “The van is being looked at by a garage now. Hopefully it should be ready tomorrow and we can get on a ferry.”

“Thank you for coming to get me,” Crystal mumbles, “I wasn’t sure who to call. I didn’t want to worry Rog.”

“I’ve told Roger that you’d sent word that the ferry had been delayed,” Miami tells him. “I hope that was okay?”

“That was perfect,” Crystal gulps, “Thank you.”

*

Roger has given him an enthusiastic welcome home and now Crystal admires the view of his naked backside as Roger pads towards the bathroom to run a bath. “Lots of bubbles,” Crystal demands.

“So bossy,” Roger tells him again as they sink into the warm frothy water, “But I prefer you here with me.”

“We’ve only been separated for a couple of days,” Crystal says, “Water nymph.”

“Four,” Roger pouts, “That’s practically a whole week!”

Crystal laughs, wrapping his arms around Roger’s waist. He has missed Roger too. His lips fasten around Roger’s ear lobe and he feels Roger shiver in his arms.

“So,” Roger says in a conversational tone, “What really happened to delay you?”

*

Roger has bought him a t-shirt saying ‘Fuck off – I’m Having A Bad Day’ on the front of it. At least it would have said that if the ‘fuck’ hadn’t had most of the letters replaced with stars. Crystal laughs, “You should have got me one for every day of the week.”

“You have a lovely idyllic life,” Roger murmurs, “This is for the occasional exceptional day my presence doesn’t improve.”

Crystal snorts, wrapping his arms around Roger and lifting him onto his lap. He grins at the little squeak of surprise Roger makes. “A certain naughty little nymph makes my life a living hell,” he tells Roger.

“Ugh,” Brian makes a disgusted face, “Get a room you two.”

“You shouldn’t cavort with woodland creatures, Crystal,” Freddie smirks, “You never know what kind of a spell you’ll end up under.”

“Curse,” John mutters.

“Rude,” Roger huffs.

“Get. A. Room.” Brian repeats with a loud sigh.

“Sounds like an excellent idea,” Crystal decides, nuzzling Roger’s neck. “C’ m’ on, Nymph, I can thank you properly for my gift.”

“We are supposed to be working,” Brian complains as they head for the door.

“You literally just told us to go!” Roger protests.

“That is true.” John notes, “And, let’s face it, we’re not going to get any work out of Rog until they’ve fucked.” 

Brian has a pained expression on his face. “Let’s call it a day and go to the pub,” Freddie suggests brightly, “It’s a lovely day. We could go to the beer garden by the river. You can join us later if you have the energy Roggie,” he calls after Roger and Crystal. 

Crystal isn’t sure if he is included in the invitation and is surprised to find that not being sure bothers him enormously. Roger has caught his hand and is towing him determinedly out of the room. They pass Miami who looks surprised. There is a flicker of something else on his face too and Crystal is uneasily reminded that Miami is in love with Roger. 

He hears Freddie explain to Miami that, “Roggie can’t keep his hands off Crystal this afternoon so they’ve gone to get it out of their systems. We’re going to the pub. You will come, won’t you dear?”

Miami is included. Miami doesn’t have Roger. And really, Crystal thinks, Miami is lovely and they should not flaunt their relationship in his face.

*

Roger straddles Crystal, his blond hair framing his face. “What happened between the studio and the bed to make me less desirable?” he asks. He tries to keep his voice light but he is not sure he has succeeded. 

“It’s...I’m just in a weird mood,” Crystal replies weakly, “Maybe you should’ve got me a ‘weird mood’ t-shirt too.”

This is where light-heartedly batting away any scary emotions has landed them, Roger thinks. He rolls off Crystal and lies next to him on top of the covers. Birdsong drifts in through the open window. He can hear the drone of a lawnmower. 

He shifts so that he is closer to Crystal, resting his head on Crystal’s chest. Crystal’s stomach gurgles. Crystal’s fingers tangle in his hair. “We might have to do emotions,” Roger warns him.

Crystal gives a little huff of laughter. The lawnmower stops. The silence feels loaded. “I’m over-thinking things,” Crystal mumbles. “You’re still reasonably attractive,” he adds.

There, Roger thinks, Crystal has given him his opening for a light-hearted reply. The scary emotions will fly out of the open window and melt in the sunshine. “Was it Miami?” he asks instead. “You thought we were being insensitive?”

Crystal shifts uneasily beneath him and Roger wonders if this is because he has successfully worked out what Crystal was thinking or because he is very uncomfortable about Roger not reverting to good-natured banter. Perhaps both of those things apply. “It was partly that,” Crystal mutters. 

“We didn’t mean to flaunt our happiness in his face,” Roger points out, “And I think we’re usually quite careful...” He certainly tries to be. Besides, if they have just added another scar to Miami’s heart then maybe he is getting his revenge now with the lack of fun times occurring in their bed. “Partly that and partly...?”

Crystal wriggles. Roger shifts so that he can see Crystal’s face. He lightly traces a heart shape on Crystal’s chest. He takes a deep breath. “I’m sometimes scared that if I’m too emotional you’ll leave.”

Crystal gives a short surprised sounding bark of laughter. “I felt a bit left out, I suppose,” he confesses to Roger after a little pause, “Freddie specifically asked you to join them later but didn’t mention me.”

Crystal is blushing and looks miserable and Roger feels that he has just wrenched one of Crystal’s most private thoughts from the depths of his soul. “I think he just assumes you’ll be where I am,” he says after a while. “Have you felt like that before?” he adds. It is awful to think of Crystal – so integral to Roger’s life – so much a part of Roger - feeling left out.

“A bit, maybe,” Crystal admits. “You’re...The band is...You can be...formidable.”

“Formidable?” Roger echoes, astonished. He laughs. “Not...four idiots?”

“Well, that too,” Crystal agrees, stroking Roger’s hair. 

They are on the cusp of returning to light-hearted remarks that will scatter the emotion, Roger thinks. He is slightly surprised when Crystal says, “You four are a team. You belong to them in a way you will never belong to me.”

Roger considers this. “We’re family,” he tells Crystal, “Like I belong to my sister in a way I will never belong to you, too,” he suggests. 

“True,” Crystal agrees, “I did say I was over-thinking,” he adds slightly defensively. 

Roger presses his lips to Crystal’s chest licking his nipple and feeling him shift beneath him. “Can I help with that?” he asks. 

“I think you possibly can, little Nymph,” Crystal said.

*

Afterwards they decided not to join the others. They took their bottles of beer out into the garden and sat on the little bench beneath a shady tree. Crystal wound his arm around Roger’s waist. “You know, Rog, not talking about emotions doesn’t mean they’re not there.”

Roger peered up at him looking mildly alarmed. “Emotions again?” he gave a little mock gasp.

“Emotions constantly,” Crystal murmured, pressing his lips to the top of Roger’s head. “That’s kind of my point.” Roger looked troubled. “Not...I’m not going to leave you because you have feelings, you idiot,” Crystal muttered, “I have feelings myself.” He hugged Roger fiercely. “Some of them are even for you.”

*

It was perhaps a sort of halo-effect Miami thought. He had expanded his feelings for Roger to include Crystal. He took a gulp of wine. He was lusting after both of the crazy bastards now.

Was it lust or was it love? Not that it mattered. They were a happy couple and he was... He wasn’t sure he wanted to examine too closely his thoughts about what Crystal and Roger might think about him.

Roger might regard him as a friend. Not a friend like Freddie or Brian or John. But he might have some kind of friend status. He was fairly certain Crystal regarded him as a work colleague and nothing more. Crystal had called him when he was in trouble, though. Did that count for anything? Or was he simply the sort of person people did call when they were in trouble. 

“Penny for your thoughts,” Roger said, flinging himself on to the chair next to Miami and almost spilling his drink. 

“They’re not worth that much,” Miami laughed. 

“Your thoughts are always interesting,” Roger told him. 

Miami smiled at him and hoped it looked like a normal smile not the deranged grin of someone just complimented by their crush. He thought it probably was a deranged grin. “Thank you but if I was mentally composing a shopping list I’m fairly sure that would only be of interest to me,” he pointed out. 

“You weren’t composing a shopping list,” Roger shook his head, “You were...”

“Dreaming of ways to kill Roger?” Crystal suggested, plonking himself down on the other side of Miami.

Miami tried not to think about being the centre of a Crystal/Roger sandwich. He took a large gulp of wine.

“I sometimes plot his murder,” Crystal told Miami. 

Roger stuck his tongue out at him. “How would you kill me?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious. 

“So you can be on the look-out?” Miami suggested, “Very wise.”

Crystal gave a little huff of laughter and Miami felt a little moment of elation at having amused Crystal. “Yeah, Roggie, what makes you think I’m going to tell you?”

“You can’t actually do it now,” Roger informed him, “On account of you’ve let Mi know that you might murder me so you’d get caught right away. Which means you might as well tell me.”

“Damn!” Crystal snapped his fingers and took a sip of his pint. “I knew I should’ve kept my mouth shut!” He nudged Miami gently, “Unless you’d like to become my accomplice?”

Miami was afraid he might be sitting there with a dopey smile on his face. He thought it was probably tragic to be so thrilled by a tiny bit of physical contact.

Roger pouted. “That’s not fair! You’re not allowed to gang up on me!” he protested. 

“What would be involved?” Miami wondered. He was keen to keep the conversation going. “What methods have you considered for killing him?”

Crystal grinned. “Best to make it look like an accident,” he said, “He’s so clumsy anyway...”

“I am not!” Roger cried indignantly. 

“He’s so clumsy anyway,” Crystal repeated firmly, “That an accident would be totally believable.”

“A fall?” Miami suggested. 

“That’s quite high up the list,” Crystal nodded, “The main drawback is that we know his head is rock solid.”

Roger gave a theatrical shudder “Actually,” he sipped his drink “Can we not do this after all? I find I’m a bit squeamish about hearing about me being bludgeoned to death.”

“There wouldn’t be any bludgeoning involved,” Crystal told him, “That couldn’t be passed off as accidental.”

Miami thought Roger might be genuinely bothered and was just about to change the subject by asking what Roger was drinking – it was a vibrant shade of purple – when Brian appeared and sat opposite him, setting a bottle of wine on the table. “I thought you might need rescuing Miami,” he said cheerfully. 

Miami let Roger and Crystal’s indignant responses wash over him and thought he had never been less in need of rescuing. 

*

“I think Miami fancies you,” Roger said thoughtfully as he wandered into the bedroom after brushing his teeth.

Crystal kissed away a little speckle of toothpaste at the corner of Roger’s mouth. “Minty fresh Nymph,” he murmured. “Fancies me?”

“The way he was looking at you...Adoringly,” Roger told him. 

“Nah, that’s how he looks at you,” Crystal shook his head. 

“Maybe he’s moved on,” Roger suggested, sliding his hand down Crystal’s chest, fingers plucking at the waistband of his underwear.

“He definitely still adores you, little Nymph,” Crystal said firmly, “Little Nymph with wandering hands...”

*

Crystal was feeding Roger grapes. Roger was sitting on Crystal’s lap in Freddie’s kitchen looking at Crystal from under lowered lashes. “You’re a coquette,” Crystal informed him, “That’s like a posh nymph.”

“I just heard ‘cock’,” Roger murmured. 

“That thing you do with your eyelashes is coquettish,” Crystal told him.

Roger fluttered his eyelashes at Crystal. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“No,” Crystal agreed, “You don’t because I didn’t mean the fluttering – I meant the other thing.” Roger looked puzzled. “Nymph,” Crystal breathed, “Coquette, little slut.”

Roger looked indignant and opened his mouth to say something. Crystal popped a grape into his mouth and laughed at Roger’s outraged expression. 

“Roggie, darling, put Crystal down and come and do some work you lazy tart!” Freddie bellowed. 

“Abused at home, abused at work,” Roger grumbled, sliding off Crystal’s knee.

“You like a bit of abuse, Coquette,” Crystal grinned. 

*

Roger realises he has had too much to drink when he finds himself resting his head on Miami’s shoulder. He usually avoids physical contact with Miami out of Consideration For Miami’s Feelings. He wonders if he should move. Would that draw attention to them? He feels protective of Miami and Miami’s feelings towards him. “Sorry, Mi, I’m drunk,” he mumbles instead.

“So am I,” Miami replies. He is looking right at Roger. Their eyes are locked together. Miami has nice eyes, Roger thinks.

“You have nice eyes,” he informs Miami. “Kind,” he elaborates, “Kind eyes.”

“Yours are the blue of a summer sky,” Miami tells him softly. 

Miami really is drunk, then. “You’ve lost some inhibitions,” Roger tells him delightedly. He lifts his head from Miami’s shoulder. “You deserve everything,” he adds sadly.

“So do you,” Miami replies. His face is very close. Roger turns his face away so that Miami’s kiss lands on his cheek. “Sorry,” Miami says. He lurches away from Roger. 

Roger does not know if he should go after him or leave him alone. He stands unsurely, swaying slightly and then someone flings their arm around his shoulder and pulls him away to look at something.

*

Crystal has lost sight of Roger. He went to get him a glass of water but Roger has moved from his last known position. He sees Miami stumbling through the crowd and follows him. Miami will know where Roger is.

He follows Miami into the garden. Miami moves away from the little groups of people on the terrace to a quiet dimly lit area of the garden where he vomits neatly into a flowerbed. Crystal silently offers him the glass of water.

“Thank you,” Miami gasps. He takes a slug of water. “Tried to kiss Roger,” he confesses. “I’m a silly fool.” He peers at Crystal. “Didn’t,” he adds, “He didn’t.”

“Sip that,” Crystal commands him, gesturing to the water. He steers Miami onto a bench. He sits next to him and rests his hand lightly on Miami’s back. “He would never want to hurt you,” he offers.

“No,” Miami agrees, “Kind. He said I was kind. He’s kind.”

“You’re both kind,” Crystal says. “Keep sipping your water.”

“You are also kind,” Miami tells him. “And you have a nice arse.”

Crystal laughs, surprised. “Thank you.”

*

Roger is singing something Crystal doesn’t recognise on the way home in the taxi. Miami has fallen asleep with his head on Crystal’s shoulder. It seemed easier to simply take him with them. Crystal thinks he can place him in the recovery position. He can look after him. “New song?” he asks Roger, who is on the other side of him – warm and giggly.

Roger looks at him blankly and Crystal wonders how many songs all four of them have lost because they composed them while drunk in a taxi home. He snakes his arm around Roger’s waist and pulls him close. Laughter bubbles out of Roger. 

He gives the taxi driver a hefty tip. Miami has stirred enough to get out of the taxi but has now sat down on the ground and looks as if he may have dozed off again. Roger is humming a tune and dancing with an invisible partner. Crystal sighs. “Right, then, c’ m’ on sleeping beauty and you dancing queen. It’s time for bed.”

“Bed,” Roger echoed happily. He started singing the word as he waltzed down the garden path. 

“Fucking buggering hell,” Crystal sighed. “Come on, Miami, please get up.” He was quite surprised when Miami did scramble up off the ground in response to this entreaty. Crystal wrapped one arm around Miami’s shoulders. “Rog,” he called, “Time for bed, come on.”

Roger spun over to him, halting in front of him swaying alarmingly. “Everything’s moving,” he told Crystal. 

Crystal tucked Roger under his other arm. He decided he would worry about how to open the front door when they reached it. “Bloody world turning around,” he told Roger.

“Spins,” Miami agreed, “Perpetual motion thingy.”

The words ‘I love you’ drifted through Crystal’s mind. He halted momentarily and Roger and Miami both made confused noises. “Sorry,” Crystal muttered soothingly to them. He resumed his attempts to manoeuvre them towards the door deciding that the issue of who he loved could wait – possibly forever. 

*

Nursing a mug of strong coffee at the kitchen table the following morning Crystal thought darkly that life would be much easier if he didn’t love either of them. Worried in case they choked on their own vomit or wandered off while still drunk and incapable he had spent a sleepless night checking on Roger in their bed and Miami in the spare room. You could go off people, he thought. 

He looked up as Miami shuffled in, grey faced and wrapped in the fluffy robe that hung on the back of the door in the guest bedroom. It had been acquired from one of the nicer hotels they had stayed in on tour.

“Morning,” Crystal greeted him. Miami managed to make a strangled noise in response. “Sit down and I’ll get you some coffee. Or would you prefer tea?”

Miami managed a weak, “Tea, please.”

“Are you up to food yet?” Crystal wondered. Miami took on a green tinge and shook his head. 

Crystal put plenty of sugar in the tea. Roger liked very sweet tea when he had a hangover and Crystal had also adopted this method of dealing with mornings after nights before.

He had just set Miami’s tea in front of him when Roger shuffled in, hair wet from the shower clad only in a pair of underpants, an unbuttoned white shirt and his sunglasses. “I think I died.”

“And heaven is me making you a cuppa? That’s nice. Sit down, diva nymph.”

Roger slid onto a chair and laid his head on the table. He aimed a little smile at Miami. “You’re here,” he observed fondly. Miami grunted. “Did you die too?” Roger asked sympathetically. 

“I actually spent a lot of time and effort in making sure neither of you died,” Crystal informed him, setting another mug of tea in front of Roger and returning to his own coffee. 

“You’re a thingy...” Roger mumbled. 

“Wonderful person?” Crystal suggested. 

“Martyr,” Miami murmured.

“Mug,” Crystal decided. 

“No,” Roger carefully raised his head from the table and wrapped both hands around his mug of tea, taking a sip of it. “A thingy...You’re a...a...”

“Saint,” Crystal offered.

“No,” Roger frowned, “That’s not it.”

“An angel?” Miami ventured. 

“You’ll make me blush,” Crystal told him. His cheeks did feel hot. It was the steam from his coffee he told himself.

Roger frowned. He removed his sunglasses then winced. “Bright,” he muttered in a distressed tone, pushing the sunglasses back onto his face. “Responsible adult,” he declared triumphantly.

“Well...Yeah...” Crystal agreed, smiling into his mug of coffee. I love you, he thought. The night before flashed into his mind and he pushed the recollection away. He could examine that at a later date when he was better rested. He could refuse to examine it at all if he decided that would be best for his sanity. 

*

Miami knows he should probably feel awkward about having stayed with Roger and Crystal but he simply can’t summon up the energy. He has a vague memory of fleeing from Roger so an apology is almost certainly needed.

He clears his throat. “Uh...I don’t remember much about last night but I am very sorry if I behaved badly,” he tells them.

Roger raises his head from the table again. “Oh,” he lowers his sunglasses and peers at Crystal, “Do I need to make a blanket apology too?”

“Can you remember what you did?” Crystal asks, sounding amused.

Roger shakes his head. He removes his sunglasses and sips his tea. “I remember everything up to the frog, I think,” he says thoughtfully. “It’s all a bit of a blank after that. I’m sorry if I was an arse.”

“You’re always an arse,” Crystal tells him. “What frog?” he asks. 

“By the pond,” Roger says, “Brian was trying to save it from something...maybe someone...and he fell in?”

Crystal and Miami both laugh. “I wish I’d seen that,” Miami says. He wonders if that was before or after his clumsy attempt to kiss Roger. Maybe he had seen that and just didn’t recall it. His cheeks heat up as he thinks of his clumsy attempt to kiss Roger. Does Roger remember that?

He should go home, he knows but it seems like too much effort. He will get this wrong, he is certain of that. There is probably an optimal time to leave the house of the people who looked after you when you got drunk and made a fool of yourself but he will undoubtedly either leave too abruptly or outstay his welcome.

“Where was I?” Crystal wonders, “Why were you near water unsupervised?” he asks Roger suspiciously.

“I’m not a little kid, Crys,” Roger objects mildly.

Crystal snorts. “No,” he agrees, “Most little kids have more sense.”

Roger sticks his tongue out at Crystal. “You had abandoned me,” he sniffs, “Brian seems to share your ridiculous notion that I need constant supervision so I was with him. And after he fell in the pond I think I was with Freddie but I don’t really remember much after that.”

“If I leave your side,” Crystal says with a long suffering air, “I always tell you to stay where you are until I return.”

“Abandoned,” Roger murmurs sadly, “Like an unwanted package.”

“Wandered off,” Crystal corrects him sternly.

“I think someone took me,” Roger tells him doubtfully. “To meet someone else or see something.”

“That might have been me, actually,” Miami mumbles. “I did come across you on your own at one point and thought you might need to be looked after.”

Roger’s face brightens. “How kind of you,” he says. 

“So when I want to make sure you are looked after and don’t drown in a pond I’m treating you like a child but when Miami wants to look after you he’s kind,” Crystal huffs. 

“You’re bossy,” Roger informs him, “Miami is chivalrous.”

“I’m chivalrous!” Crystal protests, “Whatever the hell that means,” he adds. 

“You have never, not once in our entire relationship, laid your cloak over a muddy puddle for me,” Roger tells him. 

“Neither has Miami,” Crystal points out. “That’s not chivalry. That’s ruining good clothes unnecessarily.” He considers this. “I don’t have a cloak. And I’ve carried you over a puddle. That giant puddle – lake, really – at the bottom of the steps outside the stadium we played in...I can’t remember where. But there was a giant puddle your new boots didn’t have to negotiate.”

“Never said you weren’t my hero,” Roger mutters, “Just said you were bossy, is all, which is perfectly true.”

Crystal made a smug satisfied noise. He took a sip of his coffee. Miami thought how exasperating and irritating and perfect they were - how beautiful each of them was in their own way. 

*

Roger waved until the taxi taking Miami home was out of sight. He was still only wearing a shirt and a pair of skimpy knickers. Crystal slid his hand under the shirt and cupped Roger’s bum. Roger looked up at him with an innocent expression on his face and Crystal thought his heart might explode.

“So,” Roger said sweetly, “What happened between you and Miami?”

Crystal stared at him. He removed his hand from Roger’s backside. “I don’t know what you mean.” He turned and re-entered the house and Roger followed him, closing the door. 

“There’s something...” Roger said. “Unless I’ve upset you?” he added, his voice cracking slightly.

“No,” Crystal assured him quickly, “No, Nymph, you haven’t upset me.” He scrubbed his hand across his face. “I haven’t had enough sleep for this...” he muttered. 

Roger slid his arms around Crystal’s waist, pressing his face to Crystal’s shoulder. “Tell me when you’re ready,” he requested. 

“You might have to wait a bit,” Crystal mumbled.

Roger shifted so he could look Crystal in the eyes. “But we’re okay?”

“Yeah,” Crystal pressed his lips to Roger, “We’re perfect.”

*

It happens again around a week later when Miami hands him the milk when he is making tea in the cramped kitchen in the studio. Crystal thinks how kind and considerate Miami is – how much he loves him.

There is little love on show in the studio. The band is bickering. As Crystal watches the band squabble with each other he wonders if he loves Miami platonically. As a good friend, perhaps, nothing more – and yet he has found his thoughts drifting to what it would be like to slowly unbutton Miami’s nice suits – to unwrap him.

They seem to be arguing about one note in a song. All four of them have very strong opinions about this, apparently. Crystal feels slightly reluctant to enter the warzone to dole out their tea and biscuits but maybe this will defuse the situation. 

They start to argue about the biscuits. 

Crystal pre-empts any criticism of him by announcing loudly that, “There were only two custard creams left and the only other packet we have were the chocolate digestives.”

Everyone wants a custard cream. 

“I can’t possibly eat a digestive!” Freddie declares. He makes digestives sound like poison. Arsenic biscuits. 

“Don’t have anything then,” John suggests, reaching towards one of the desirable custard creams. 

Brian slaps his hand away and if looks could kill John would just have dispatched Brian into the afterlife. “Let’s settle this democratically,” Brian says, “We can draw straws for the custard creams.”

“Fucking hell,” Roger mutters, snatching a chocolate digestive off the plate and wandering over to Crystal. “Hug, please,” he requests. 

Crystal obliges. “We have custard creams back at the house,” Crystal whispers to him. “You can have as many as you want later.” He rests his cheek on the top of Roger’s head. He can see the biscuit war escalate behind him as Freddie triumphantly shoves a custard cream into his mouth to howls of disapproval from Brian and John. 

*

In the end the last custard cream fell to the floor when the tussle for control of the plate resulted in the plate slipping out of everyone’s grasp and clattering on to the stained carpet. Roger was glad he had taken a chocolate digestive while he had the chance.

Now, he placed a bottle of beer in front of Crystal and sat beside him at the kitchen table. “What’s wrong?” he asked softly. 

Crystal sighed. “Emotions, little Nymph.”

“Oh, they’re troublesome things,” Roger told him sympathetically. “Tell me?” he invited Crystal gently. 

“I love you,” Crystal told him, gulping some beer. 

“I like these emotions,” Roger said. 

Crystal grinned at him then his face fell. “And I think I might have fallen in love with Miami, too,” he confessed. 

“Oh,” Roger sipped some beer and considered this. “Are you...? Do you want to...?” He took a deep breath. “Are you going to leave me for him?”

“I wasn’t planning to, no,” Crystal assured him. He grinned at Roger, “You’re richer.”

“Fuck off,” Roger laughed. “I...Are you...? Do you want to...?” He didn’t seem able to finish a sentence. “Are you going to tell him?”

“I don’t know,” Crystal said. “I just...I wanted you to know. I’m not even entirely sure why I wanted you to know...I just...” He shrugged. 

Not being able to finish a sentence seemed to be catching. They sat in silence for a moment. “I’m fairly sure he likes you,” Roger said eventually, “In that way. And I think he likes me like that.”

“He definitely does, little Nymph,” Crystal agreed. 

“And I...I admit sometimes I think about...Well...” Roger flushed. 

“Have you been having naughty thoughts about Miami, little Nymph?” Crystal asked, sounding amused. 

Roger’s blush intensified. “I sometimes think about undressing him. He’s so literally buttoned up...”

“I’ve thought about that too,” Crystal told him excitedly. 

“Maybe if...If we both...” Roger fiddled with the label on his bottle of beer feeling almost shy. He took another deep breath, “If we both want to fuck him and he wants to fuck both of us...”

Crystal reached out and gently stroked Roger’s hair. “We don’t have to do anything just now,” he noted, “We can have a little think about it.” He leaned over and kissed Roger’s cheek. “Do you...um...have feelings for Miami?”

“I love you,” Roger told him firmly. “And I have had...thoughts...but...I don’t...I’m very fond of Miami...I don’t know, Crys.”

“That’s fine,” Crystal assured him in a soothing tone. 

“Yes, I know it is,” Roger snapped irritably. He sighed deeply. “Sorry...It’s...I...I do like having you all to myself.”

“You can keep having me all to yourself,” Crystal promised. “I’m not going anywhere.”

*

They invite Miami to dinner. Roger thinks this was perhaps not a good idea. It feels too formal. It does not feel very Roger and Crystal. And yet it does seem right for Miami. If Miami agrees to their proposal then this will no longer be solely about Roger and Crystal it will morph into something different. Roger is not entirely sure how he feels about Roger and Crystal and Miami. 

Crystal slides his arms around Roger’s waist. “You look like you’re thinking,” he murmurs. 

“Isn’t everyone, always?” Roger wonders. 

“You looked a bit frowny,” Crystal elaborates. “You know, it’s fine if you’ve changed your mind. We can have a nice dinner and not say anything.”

“Yes,” Roger agrees, “I...Once we say something then the genie is out of the bottle, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Crystal nods. “We can keep the lid on it if we want.”

Roger sighs. “No, fuck it, we decided to do it so let’s do it!”

*

Miami has brought a very nice wine and a plant. “Is that a Venus fly-trap?” Crystal wonders. 

“How lovely,” Roger murmurs, “A carnivorous plant.”

“It doesn’t need many flies,” Miami cautions him. “Don’t feed it, Roggie.”

Roger pouts. “That’s no fun. What if I’m out when it catches a fly? I want to see its trap close on its prey.”

“Sometimes you worry me,” Crystal informs him. “What would you like to drink, Miami?”

They have agreed they will not proposition Miami until after they have eaten in the spirit of allowing the condemned man one last meal. So they do not raise the subject until they have settled into comfortable chairs with mugs of coffee.

They decided it would be best if Roger broached the subject although Roger can’t quite recall Crystal’s reasoning for this and it seems insane now. Roger thinks it would be much better if Crystal did this. Crystal makes a little motion with his hand indicating he thinks Roger should get on with it.

Roger waits until Miami has put his coffee cup down. He does not want Miami to spill hot liquid on himself. “Mi,” he starts in a croaky voice, “We...uh...wanted to ask if you would...um...If you would like to...Maybe you would like to...To...Sleepwithus.”

Miami stares at him. “Sorry, I didn’t quite...Did you say...Sleep?”

“What Roger is trying to say is that we would like you to join us in bed,” Crystal tells him, “If you would like to do that?”

*

Miami has been deliciously commanding. Roger nestles against him. “You’re bossy too,” he murmurs.

Miami smiles and gently strokes Roger’s hair. “I’m...I ask for what I want.”

“Nice to see Crystal bossed about for once,” Roger tells him. 

“We’re not bossy, little Nymph,” Crystal corrects him “We just know you like to follow orders.” He presses his lips to Miami’s bare shoulder. “And sometimes I like to be told what to do, too.”

Miami insists on leaving despite their pleas for him to stay. “Another time, maybe?” he suggests. It is a question.

“Definitely,” Roger tells him and Crystal nods. “I’m not very sure where this is going,” Roger adds, “But it will be fun finding out.” 

*

They had not discussed how or when or if they would break the news to the others but Roger sorted that by kissing Miami at a rehearsal. Reactions varied. “I thought you had more sense, Miami,” Brian muttered. 

“Double trouble,” Freddie told Roger gleefully. “You will have your hands full, darling, aren’t you lucky?” 

“Figures that Crystal would need an ally,” John commented. 

“They’re not allowed to gang up on me,” Roger told him. “You won’t, will you?” he added, sounding slightly unsure, glancing from Miami’s face to Crystal’s.

“I don’t recall making any promises,” Crystal shrugged, grinning at him.

“No,” Miami agreed, “I’m pretty sure there were no promises made.”

“Well,” Roger pouted, “You’re not allowed to.”

During a break he draped himself across both their laps. “Oh,” Crystal breathed, “Little coquette, doing that thing with your eyelashes again.”

Roger fluttered his eyelashes. “No,” they said in unison.

“Not that,” Miami said softly. 

Roger struggled into a sitting position, still slightly sprawled across them. He folded his arms and glared at them. “What, then?” he demanded, “It’s completely unfair that I have this power over you and I don’t know what it is!”

Before either of them could reply Brian walked by and gave them a withering look. “I thought you and Crystal were bad, Rog. Get a room!”

“What a wonderful idea,” Miami murmured.

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far then thank you so much for reading!


End file.
